


Only Splendor

by thepriexperience



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, the bunker, tis the season and all that shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepriexperience/pseuds/thepriexperience
Summary: "From base to summit, gay and bright, there's only splendor for the sight. O' Christmas tree, o' Christmas tree."The reader decorates a Christmas tree with Team Free Will.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Only Splendor

It's early in the bunker, a rare occasion where you're up before Dean. It would be more impressive if you’d been to bed, but you're too excited to sleep just yet. Sam woke up at around two, grinned at you and agreed to stay away from his laptop for a few hours later today, and Castiel texted you just ten minutes ago and said he would come by whenever you want, using about five or six different Christmas emojis you didn't know existed.

Dean is the one whose reaction you aren't sure of, but you remain hopeful, surveying your handiwork over the rim of your coffee cup. It's possible you went a little overboard. Once you started, you just couldn't seem to stop, wandering out to Wal-Mart once around four this morning for a few extras. 

“What the…”

You can hear it from down the hall, and you take a long swallow of your coffee, hoping he’s just surprised and not frustrated. It takes Dean longer than it should to get to the kitchen, and you wait, smiling at him when he walks through the doorway, waiting for him to speak first. He looks at you, then at his surroundings.

“The fridge is a snowman,” he says finally. 

You blush. “I may have gone a little too far with that.”

Dean is silent for another solid minute, then a slow smile spreads across his face. “I like snowmen. Even metallic snowmen. Thanks. Really, sweetheart, you didn't have to do this.”

“I didn't just do it for you. I like decorating for Christmas.” You smile. “But, I left the best part for last.”

*

You catch a couple hours of sleep while Dean and Sam get going, taking showers, then drinking coffee and eating breakfast. You should be more tired than you are, but you're too excited to rest for long. After running a brush through your hair, you get out of bed and wander into the library. 

The Christmas tree was a bargain, though it was a bitch and a half to put together by yourself. Totally worth it, though. Dean, Sam, and Castiel join you.

“There's a large man with a beard on your towels,” says Castiel, and the brothers laugh outright.

You grin. “What can I say, I'm a believer.”

Castiel frowns, looks like he's about to ask a question, but Sam cuts him off. The younger Winchester gestures to the boxes.

“Ornaments?”

“And lights, and everything you could possibly want to put on a tree.”

You’ve wrapped a white tree skirt around the base, amazed it still has any glitter on it after so many years in storage. You bought plenty of new ornaments, but you snagged a couple boxes from your storage unit. It's been a long time since you were willing to look at anything that reminded you of your childhood or your family. After Thanksgiving, your first here at the bunker, you realized that thinking about your parents didn't hurt as much, so you made the trip to your hometown. Once you got back last night, you couldn't wait another second to start decorating, with both the new stuff you bought and the decorations your mom used to unpack with great care each year.

“So, grab a box or a bag, and get to work.”

You don't bother to push your luck and put on any music, figuring that until Metallic makes a Christmas album, Dean isn't going to be singing The Little Drummer Boy.

But, that ends up being okay. The Winchesters are more enthusiastic than you had hoped, taking in the task of stringing the lights while Castiel helps you slip hooks into the new ornaments. The angel is smiling now, blue eyes bright with mirth as the brothers tease each other over Dean’s lack of symmetry and Sam’s need for it. 

“Play nice,” you say, trying and failing to disguise a laugh. 

“Hey, if Samantha here would quit trying to compete with Martha frikkin Stewart-”

“If Dean would just slow down-”

“My decorating skills are awesome, dude. You're just jealous that I'm faster than you.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but lets it rest, smiling and shaking his head at his grinning brother. You haven't felt this relaxed on December first in years.

“I don't believe it's a race, Dean,” says Castiel, looking to you for confirmation, and you nod.

Dean ignores this, squatting down to plug the lights in, and you restrain yourself from clapping your hands. Whatever Dean says, it look like he let Sam have his way, the bright colors strung perfectly even across the branches.

“Good job,” you say. “Ornaments are on the table. But, hey- I got each of you one.”

And you don't care how much they’ll tease you. You hand each of them an ornament shaped like the letter of their first name, decorated like cookies with fake frosting and sprinkles. Not like there are a lot of manly Christmas decorations. You fully expect them to laugh, but as they so often do, they surprise you.

Castiel thanks you, his voice soft and humble, and he squeezes your shoulder firmly. 

“I have never had a Christmas tree,” says the angel quietly. 

Sam and Dean step forward and pull you into a hug at the same time, squishing you between them, kissing either side of your head. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” says Dean.

“This is… Thank you.”

You just hug them back, not prepared for the emotion behind their words, tears springing to your eyes as you think about how many Christmas trees you've had, and how many the Winchesters haven't. 

Dean steps back first. “Mine goes on top.”

You laugh, tears easily blinked away, and sure enough, Dean hangs his just beneath the highest point on the tree. 

You've managed to keep your childhood ornaments separated, sneaking over to that box when the others aren't looking your way. There are so many memories here- A cat for the year you brought home your beloved Tom, ice skates for when you attempted the sport only to quit after a sprained knee. Little and big parts of your life, held safe for you, and it aches, but not so bad, not like it did. Not with these three men laughing in the background, Castiel smiling while Sam and Dean throw tinsel at each other.

Finally, the tree is completely covered, the tinsel war is declared a draw, and you're hunting through bags looking for the star you know you bought.

“Hey, look, the angel’s holding an angel,” quips Dean, and you glance up.

Castiel has your mother’s angel held carefully in his hands, and you swallow down the heartache that rises fresh and sudden to the surface. It's been in your family for as long as you can remember, a serene smile painted onto its perfect porcelain face, dressed in white, with large wings made from actual feathers. You hadn't intended to put it on the tree, hence the plastic star hidden in one of the store bags, but you stop what you're doing and hold out your hand. Castiel gives it to you carefully, and you smooth your hand down the front of its dress, smiling a little sadly. 

“This was my mom’s favorite decoration,” you tell them. 

Dean wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulls you against him, and you rest your head against his chest, soaking up the comfort he's offering. 

“I miss her so much.” You didn't intend to say it, but it slips out, and it's true, and it feels good to admit it instead of pretending. “I miss my dad. My whole family.”

Dean kisses your forehead, and you pull away, take a couple steps toward the tree, angel in hand, and then let out a soft laugh.

“Sam? A little help?”

Gently, he takes the angel from you and reaches up easily to place it on the tree’s very top. You step back, in between the real angel and Dean.

Castiel says, “Such a strange custom. But, the effect is truly beautiful.”

You look away from the tree, to Sam’s soft smile, Dean’s boyish grin, and finally to Castiel’s contented gaze. 

“Yeah,” you reply. “It really is.”


End file.
